


「Blood Bound」: A Tale Of Truth, Memory, and Heritage (Persona/JJBA Fusion AU)

by Xan Lazy Eldritch Writer (xanothos)



Category: Persona Series, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Character Development, Murder Mystery, Original Character(s), Other, Private Investigators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-07-14 14:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16042244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanothos/pseuds/Xan%20Lazy%20Eldritch%20Writer
Summary: An unforgetting orphan who can’t always separate ‘smart’ from ‘smart aleck’.A detective struggling under the weight of her parents’ memory and a male-oriented career.A chaotic puppetmaster, held in check by azure wings and prayers.This is a story of piercing mediocrity and reaching your Potential.





	1. Chapter 1

Arc 1:「Trailblazers」Act 0

A pair of eyes stared blankly out of a window, watching but not seeing the rolling hills and greenery pass by.

_ Tap. Tap. Tap. _

The young man hunched over, the curve of his spine causing his black dress shirt to come slightly untucked from his jeans. 

_ Tap. Tap. Tap. _

Light glinted off the silver, diamond-shaped studs in his earlobes as he shifted in his seat, stretching his boot-clad legs even as he massaged his brow.

_ Tap. Tap. Tap. _

Lost in thought as he was, the silent watcher paid no heed to the gentle bumping of the train he rode.

_ Tap. Tap. Tap. _

No, his mind was fixed firmly internally, on his frustration at failing to find what he sought.

_ Tap. Tap. Tap. _

For the first time in a long time, research had turned up nothing.

_ Tap. Tap. Tap. _

Tokyo had many libraries scattered throughout its wards, and he’d visited every one.

_ Tap. Tap. Tap. _

He’d spent hours every day scouring them for any scrap of information, after not even the Internet provided succor for him.

_ Tap. Tap. Tap. _

So now here he was.

_ Tap. _

Riding a train.

_ Tap. _

Going to visit a famous family of detectives.

_ Tap. _

Sitting next to some irritating  _ fuck _ who wouldn’t stop tapping his fingers!

Amber irises flashed behind a curtain of thick, shaggy black hair as Kohaku Yukimura gritted his teeth. He silently seethed in irritation at the man seated beside him. The wrinkled fuck was just  _ sitting _ there, sheep-like and oblivious to how much he was pissing Kohaku off.

Kohaku only managed to hold back his temper because he was just too damn  _ tired _ to get into an argument he couldn’t just end by walking away. Between his daily ten-hour search for answers (he was  _ not _ obsessed, Matron Ayako could fuck off) and the exacting standards set by his former school, he was  _ spent _ .

_ ‘Feh. I just hope that Inaba is better than Tokyo. All those damn sycophants at Kosei High, the crowded subways...what a hassle. Eh. If that little town produced that Shirogane kid they’re automatically better than our clusterfuck of a capital in my book.’ _

When he’d found out about the lauded ‘Detective Prince’ Naoto Shirogane, Kohaku couldn’t help but be intrigued. To be a year his junior and already famous enough an investigator to be nationally known?  _ That _ was a curiosity, a  _ mystery _ even. And where there was a mystery, there was an opportunity to  _ learn _ .

_ “‘Ipsa scientia potestas est.’ Knowledge itself is power.”  _ These words, penned by Francis Bacon, were ones that Kohaku patterned his very life around. Though others had looked askance at him, calling him “odd”, “neurotic”, even “obsessed”, he paid them little mind. Knowledge, and the resources that came of possessing it were of far more value to him than the judgements of strangers.

The slender boy bit his thumbnail as he thought. Surely the scion of the Shirogane family would be a kindred spirit to him; one didn’t become a successful detective before the age of fifteen without having some investment in the pursuit of knowledge, right?

_ Tap. _

Like gentle morning mist faced with an obnoxious leaf-blower, Kohaku’s cautiously optimistic pondering vanished, replaced by the rapid return of the choking exhaust fumes of irritation.

Beneath the unkempt mane of black, one thin eyebrow of a matching hue twitched. Kohaku’s already unusually pink face (courtesy of whichever of his parents had been Caucasian) began to redden as he gritted his teeth.

He’d actually been approaching something resembling a  _ good _ mood, a welcome change after nearly a thousand hours of searching had turned up precisely nothing (unless a cult of sun-worshiping Egyptian monks counted as  _ something _ ).

_But this_ fucking _guy!_

Kohaku exhaled shakily, some dark part of him wishing the hot air passing between his canines was flame instead. Sadly lacking the ability to spontaneously transform into a dragon, Kohaku settled for taking a moment to study the man’s face, committing it to memory forevermore.

Eidetic memory was  _ so very useful  _ when it came to grudges, petty or otherwise. And Kohaku knew he was being petty. He just didn’t care. 

An unpleasant grin twitched Kohaku’s lips as he plotted petty, cruel revenge for an unintentional slight.

_ “—Yaso-Inaba. All passengers for Yaso-Inaba station, please prepare for disembarking.” _

Kohaku blinked as the announcement over the intercom pulled him from his malevolent plotting. He stood, massaging the stiffness from his neck and then gathered up his suitcase. From the corner of one eye, he noticed a grey-haired boy standing and gathering luggage as well, but paid him little mind.

Almost unconsciously, Kohaku’s left hand rose to his neck, reassuring himself that the familiar weight of his pendant remained secreted away beneath his shirt. 

The locket was more than just keepsake or good luck charm, though both of those titles could easily apply to it. It (or rather, what it had contained) was the only clue he had regarding his birth parents.

Reassured by the token’s continued presence, the now-calm youth disembarked from the train, his gaze sweeping the station and taking it all in. 

Aside from a couple of worn vending machines and a few benches, the station platform was incredibly bare. A cracked concrete floor, only interrupted patches of drooping grass here and there.

It wasn’t quite decrepit enough to be classified as abandoned, but it was abundantly clear that the station got little use and even less maintenance.

As he finished looking around the station, Kohaku noticed the boy from earlier chatting with a grizzled man and a small girl.

He put them from his mind for the time being; he had come all the way out here for a reason, after all, and that reason wasn’t to stare at strangers.

No, Kohaku mused as he took a seat on a bench, his reasons for being here were totally unrelated to the other boy, tied up in the contents of his necklace as they were.

Kohaku had only received the locket about four months ago, when he finally managed to become emancipated. Apparently, when he’d been abandoned at the orphanage, his biological mother ad left instructions with Matron Ayako to give him the locket when he became an adult. He might not be physically an adult, but he was his own guardian, and apparently that was enough for the Matron.

When he’d first opened the locket, he’d found a folded letter and half of a small, ornate arrowhead. The letter was addressed to him, unsurprisingly, but it didn’t contain much useful information (though he suspected that there was more to the letter than met the eye).

The arrowhead, on the other hand...for all his research, he couldn’t find anything _ remotely _ resembling the strange, hieroglyphic-style etchings on the ornate fragment of the shaft that remained attached. The most relevant thing he’d found in his searching was a vague reference to an “arrow for partially separating  _ ka _ and  _ akh _ ” in a short passage about offshoots of Akhenaten’s cult of Aten, but even that was supposition based on the fact that the etchings on the arrow resembled hieroglyphics.

Ordinarily, Kohaku would’ve long since discarded the arrowhead as a line of research, but something, some gut instinct or unconscious idea prevented him from doing so. Lover of knowledge or no, Kohaku had been bitten in the past for discounting his instincts, and so he persevered.

And now here he sat, awaiting the man that Masao “Peace Sign” Shirogane would send to collect him.

He’d done some research on the Shiroganes; their record was near-flawless, and most of the so-called “blemishes” on their otherwise pristine record of cases solved had taken place during the span of three years immediately prior to Naoto Shirogane setting foot on the investigative stage, so to speak.

The reason for this period of mediocrity? That was simple to answer; the senseless deaths of the famous “Crimson Bow and Arrow” wife and husband detective duo, Mikoto and Yuuto Shirogane, two of the few people Kohaku legitimately idolized.

One a legitimate genius but never content to rest on her laurels, the other born average but determined enough to drag himself up to his wife’s level of skill and competence? How could he  _ not _ respect them? They were an example of the pinnacle of humanity, those who lived up to their potential, rather than squandering it by becoming nothing more than cogs in a massive, dysfunctional machine.

And though Kohaku was not the only one who thought so highly of them, there were countless criminals and rivals alike who resented them for their success. Renowned worldwide for their peerless teamwork both in the office and out in the field, one might expect them to have been killed by one of those resentful criminals, or have had a hit put on them by a member of the Yakuza.

This was not the case. The world was robbed of their talents and kindness not by the machinations of Japan’s underworld, but by nothing more than the carelessness of a fool, driving home from drowning his sorrows in an ocean of  _ sake _ .

After the pair had died, it seemed as though the prestige of the Shirogane family would fade into the mists of history. That is, until one day, a few years ago, a twelve-year-old Naoto Shirogane came forward with the solution to a serial murder case that had utterly baffled detectives for months on end. This event marked the birth of the title “Detective Prince” and the return of the Shirogane family to prominence.

As the burning daystar began its plodding parade towards the horizon, Kohaku snapped from his thoughts and noticed how much time had passed. He slipped his worn phone from his pocket and flipped it open to check the time.

It was nearly six in the evening! His contact was almost an  _ hour _ late. The reason for this became immediately clear when he checked his text messages; apparently, both Masao  _ and  _ his assistant Yakushiji (the man who would have come to collect him) had been called by the government with an urgent request and had to depart for the capital immediately. 

Thus, he’d have to meet with Naoto, who would be busy with extracurricular activities until five thirty. Factoring in travel time, the Detective Prince should be arriving to meet with him in short order.

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Kohaku rose with a weary sigh, then stretched. Today was just  _ determined _ to be one of those days, wasn’t it? Well, he supposed it could be worse. After all, Naoto Shirogane was actually the person he was looking forward to meeting the  _ most _ . Someone as smart and capable as the Detective Prince would make for interesting conversation, right? Ah, well. He’d find out soon enough.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Naoto Shirogane was nervous.

The nationally famous “Detective Prince” was a dab hand at solving puzzles and mysteries, but the labyrinth of human interaction was one that the bluenette had always had difficulty navigating; now that Grandpa and Yakushiji-san had both been called away to one of their  _ meetings _ , it fell to Naoto to meet with this Kohaku and find out what he was searching for so  _ desperately _ that he’d hire the Shiroganes to help him find it, in spite of the price of their services. 

Naoto had a sneaking suspicion that Grandpa had already either deduced or been told what their client’s goal was, and had chosen to leave his grandchild in the dark so Naoto would have to regularly interact with someone outside the police force and a handful of librarians.

_ ‘I swear, were it not for the fact that Grandpa took Yakushiji-san with him, I’d be inclined to think his meeting was nothing more than a ruse to enact another one of his hairbrained schemes to get me to “make friends”. I am  _ perfectly _ capable of choosing my own acquaintances for myself. The fact that I don’t have any close acquaintances at this time is simply a result of the differences between my goals and viewpoints and those of others my age.’  _ Thin fingers rose to pinch the bridge of an equally thin nose.  _ ‘Well, that and because becoming familiar with people could very well put my secret at risk.’ _

Naoto sighed, looking at her reflection in a nearby window. A small, thin form clad in a high collared dark blue suit stared back. She tugged down the azure cap covering her head, and sighed wistfully.

For a moment, she imagined her reflection wavering, becoming the older, strong, confident,  _ male _ detective that she wished she was, that she tried to pretend to  _ be _ .

Indeed, the world knew it not, but their beloved “Detective Prince” was, in fact, female.

Her decision to conceal her gender was born of a few factors, but the largest reason was simple: in Japan, a male detective would be more easily accepted and more quickly respected than a female one.

Of course, this wasn’t to say that there weren’t _ any _ well respected women in her line of work; her mother had been a prime example of this. She hadn’t always worked with a partner, after all.

Not many people remembered, but her Grandpa had told her stories of the time before Mikoto Shirogane had been the “Bow” of the “Crimson Bow and Arrow”, of the beginning of her mother’s career and her solo work as the “White Ideal” of Japan’s justice. Of course, so iconic was her parents’ teamwork that few, if any, remembered the time before Mikoto Shirogane had partnered with Yuuto Hanami.

The point remained, however, that Naoto would be taken less seriously than she was now if the people she worked with knew she was female, especially since they already didn’t take her that seriously because of her age.

Thus, she practiced deepening her voice, tightly wrapped herself in a  _ sarashi _ , and began presenting herself as a male to the public. Since she’d never been particularly attached to frills or dresses, dressing like a boy wasn’t much of a change from her normal attire.

When she’d come to Grandpa and Yakushiji-san with her decision, they had supported her, though she saw something pained in Grandpa’s eyes. Since that day, their interactions had become ever so slightly stiffer. 

As Naoto walked at a brisk pace towards the station, her mind was laser-focused on thoughts of her Grandpa, and a hope that their relationship would return to normal.

So focused was she, in fact, that she walked right by the young man she had come to the station to meet, the sound of his voice calling out to her failing to even register.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Kohaku’s face flushed in embarrassment as the person he’d called out to paid him no mind whatsoever. Had he  _ really  _ just called out to a perfect stranger, mistaking them for another person entirely?  _ Him _ of all people, with his eidetic memory?

No, no. That guy  _ was _ Naoto Shirogane, he was  _ sure _ . A small amount of pink still on his cheeks, Kohaku called out to the young man once more, standing as he did so.

“Shirogane-san! Is that you?”

This time, the slender youth stopped in his tracks, then turned to look over and up at Kohaku. Once more the half-Caucasian was reminded of his remarkable height (remarkable for a Japanese person, at least), yet one more thing that had almost always caused him to stick out like a sore thumb. 

The young Shirogane seemed to abruptly realize what had happened, and his face flushed lightly in embarrassment as well. With quick, precise steps he approached Kohaku, then bowed a greeting, which Kohaku reflexively returned. 

“My apologies. I was lost in thought and rudely ignored you. As you correctly surmised, I am indeed Naoto Shirogane,” Naoto said, fidgeting with the bill of his blue cap as his gaze darted from Kohaku’s eyes to one side or another.

Absently noting how pleasing to the ear Naoto Shirogane’s voice was, Kohaku replied, “A pleasure, Shirogane-san. My name is Kohaku Yukimura, the client Masao-sama sent you to meet.” 

After briefly stooping to take his luggage in hand, Kohaku straightened, then took a moment to really  _ look _ at the Detective Prince. Naoto’s youth was plain to see in the softness of his face and the slimness of his limbs. Even so, the carefully cultivated air of professionalism and seriousness surrounding the blue-clad youth showed quite clearly how seriously he took being a detective. 

_ ‘If my impressions are accurate, I think that the two of us will get along rather well, ‘  _ Kohaku concluded, Naoto Shirogane’s face and form now committed to memory. 

As he realized he’d been staring, Kohaku coughed into his fist, eyes shifting sideways and cheeks reddening. “A-anyways, Shirogane-san,” Kohaku said, “Is there someplace you’d prefer to discuss my case? While I doubt confidentiality is necessary, I also doubt that you want to talk  _ here _ of all places.” He waved a hand vaguely at the station. 

Naoto chuckled lightly and nodded, then gesturing to a paved path to one side of the station. “Indeed. If we make haste, we should be able to make the next bus from the shopping district. From there, it’s only a few minutes ride and then a short walk to the estate.”

“Sounds good to me,” replied Kohaku, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m in your care, Shirogane-san.”

-x-x-x-

The duo’s trip through the shopping district was an uneventful one, though Kohaku made a mental note to visit both the bookstore and the adjacent metalworks at a later date. His reasons for wanting to visit the former were both practical and for leisure; as enjoyable as learning could be, digging one’s metaphorical teeth into a good story could be its own reward.

As to the latter? Kohaku, having been brought up in crowded, modern Tokyo, had never visited a genuine metalworks before. And from the intensely focused look that he’d seen in the grizzled smith’s eyes? This was a person who took his craft  _ very  _ seriously, and Kohaku couldn’t help but respect that.

After he’d oriented himself with regards to the two shops, Kohaku followed Naoto to the bus stop. True to the youthful detective’s words, it was mere moments after they arrived that the bus followed suit.

The bus itself was fairly empty; the only other passengers were a lanky, brown-haired boy in an unfamiliar school uniform and a girl with similarly colored hair clad in an open green jacket over what looked to be the female Yasogami uniform. 

The boy was utterly occupied in listening to music, a pair of blue earbuds trailing from his ears to a side pocket. The girl, on the other hand, gave Naoto a perfunctory nod reserved for strangers who recognized one another by appearance. As her gaze passed over Kohaku, her eyes glinted with what was either curiosity or a particularly unusual case of astigmatism. The tall youth sighed; he was used to stares because of his height and complexion, but to compound that with being a stranger in a town like this one? 

He  _ really _ hoped he wouldn’t end up the center of gossip or rumors. That’d be  _ such  _ a pain in the ass.

The air in the bus was stuffy, so when Kohaku passed both of the other passengers, he caught the distinct scent of  _ dog _ , though he couldn’t tell who it was coming from. Kohaku’s nose twitched; thankfully, the scent was neither particularly strong nor was it especially odious.

Moving down the aisle past the two other passengers, Kohaku took a seat about two-thirds of the way from the back, Naoto following suit in the adjacent seat. As the bus pulled out from the stop and he settled into his seat, his guide spoke up. “The stop we’ll be waiting for is the one for the Amagi Inn. The Shirogane estate is a few minutes walk from there, and after we part ways, you can handle your accommodations there, should it suit you.”

Kohaku nodded. “It was actually my first choice; between the overwhelmingly positive reviews and the fairly reasonable rates, it seems like a good pick.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, the slender youth noticed that the girl in green had turned her head slightly to listen to their conversation. Upon glancing over and meeting her eyes, she froze, like the proverbial child with their hand in the cookie jar. The brunette’s cheeks reddened as she pointedly looked away from Kohaku, whose lips twitched in mild amusement at the eavesdropper’s discomfort.

The detective’s hand moved up to adjust his hat absently as he replied, “Indeed, I can vouch for them as well. As long as you treat them with decency, the staff are some of the friendliest I’ve met.” Naoto’s hand, having released his hat, ran through his hair. “That said, those who mistreat the staff,  _ particularly  _ the Amagis, are in for a  _ thoroughly _ unpleasant stay in Inaba. A town as small as this one is quite insular, and as much as gossip may fly about, most of the residents are  _ fiercely  _ protective of one another.” At this, Naoto fixed Kohaku with a measuring stare. “ _ Particularly _ when it comes to outsiders.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Kohaku assured the bluenette, a thoughtful grimace on his face. “However…” He paused for a moment, considering how to word his question. “From the way you were speaking, you don’t consider yourself a part of Inaba’s community, do you?”

As he spoke, Kohaku absently noticed the girl in the green sweater stiffen at his words. However, most of his attention was on the young detective he’d just addressed. 

Naoto had tugged his hat down so that the brim left his eyes in shadow. After a moment’s silence, he replied, his voice sotto voce. “Very perceptive of you, Yukimura-san. However, I’m not comfortable speaking on this topic further. I hope you understand.”

Kohaku winced. “Of course. I apologize; I should’ve known better than to ask a personal question like that.”

Naoto looked over to the amber-eyed boy, his lips pulled into a thin smile. “I accept your apology. No harm was intended by your inquiry, nor can  _ I _ , of all people, condemn curiosity. I–“ 

Whatever the detective had been about to say was abruptly cut off as a voice blared from a speaker near the front of the bus.  _ “Next stop, Amagi Inn. I repeat, next stop, Amagi Inn.” _

Naoto’s mouth snapped shut. “Nevermind. This is our stop.” Kohaku nodded and reached down to take his suitcase in hand once more. As the bus rolled into the stop, all four of the passengers disembarked. The boy and girl headed directly into the Amagi Inn, while Naoto gestured for Kohaku to follow him. 

They walked past the Inn, the scent of flowers on the cusp of blooming tickling Kohaku’s nose and making him rub it irritably. With how rural Inaba was, he anticipated a particularly unpleasant allergy season.

As they walked, the silence between them that had previously seemed amicable felt a bit strained, at least to Kohaku. Unfortunately, small talk and pointless chit-chat were something that Kohaku was unskilled at, and not just because he thought it an unnecessary expenditure of energy nine times in ten.

Thus, the duo proceeded to the Shirogane estate in awkward silence, neither of the two knowing quite what to say. Once they reached the mansion, Naoto seemed to relax, perhaps drawing confidence from the fact that they were in a place familiar and comfortable to the young detective.

After leaving his shoes in the antechamber, Kohaku followed Naoto into the den. It was sparsely decorated, with a few plush chairs and a couch arrayed around a central table. A few bookshelves lined the walls, the sturdy wood nonetheless seeming to bend underneath the weight of countless thick tomes. Naoto waved him over to the couch, before taking a seat opposite him. The detective leaned forward over the table, tenting his hands before him, then spoke.

“So, Yukimura-san. Grandpa—er, that is, my grandfather—neglected to inform me of the details of your case. Shall we begin with that?”

In lieu of a response, Kohaku opened his suitcase with a  _ click _ , withdrew a manila folder filled with the notes and conjectures he’d been able to make, and slid it across the table to Naoto.

With a quiet and serious tone, Kohaku began to speak. “I don’t know who my parents are. I don’t know if they are alive or dead.” He reached into the collar of his shirt and withdrew his pendant, looking down at it with all the intensity of a wildfire. “All I know is that my mother left me this locket, which contained a letter and some sort of antique arrowhead. I’ve done what I can with the resources available to me, and turned up next to nothing. Your family is the best in the country, possibly the world. I have every confidence in you and your grandfather’s capabilities.”

Kohaku looked up from his necklace, revealing amber orbs that glinted with unshed tears of frustration. “Please, Shirogane-san. I  _ need  _ to know. Find out who my parents are.”

With an earnest plea like that, what other answer could Naoto Shirogane give but yes?

 

-x-x-x-x-x-

In the void betwixt realities, the primordial nothingness that existed before Creation, a blue butterfly played an uneven game of cards with an amorphous, writhing shadow. At every turn, the shadow seemed to be set to win, only for the butterfly to shift the game slightly in his favor. At this rate, he was only prolonging the inevitable, and both knew this.

_ However. _

Neither the butterfly nor the shadow knew that someone or some _ thing _ had slipped an Ace into the butterfly’s sleeve, to add its aid to the Joker he already held. Nor did either of them know of the machinations that threatened to flip over their table and supplant them both.

Perhaps, though...perhaps that ignorance was only fitting. For as the Sea of Souls must take care of its own, so too must the force of ‘Gravity’ draw its proponents in... _ whether they knew it or not. _  
  


**AN: Well. I haven’t updated Luna Contritum in a while, and this little number is part of the reason why.** **_(Fear not, however. The next chapter is in the works.)_ ** **I couldn’t seem to get the idea out of my head, so I went ahead and wrote it. As always, many thanks to Teninshigen and PADGTenno for betaing, and to TheLonelyWillow for her exemplary work on the cover art. I hope you all enjoy!**


	2. Arc 1:「Trailblazers」Act 1

Arc 1:「Trailblazers」Act 1

After assuring Kohaku that she would contact him as soon as she found anything, Naoto sent the amber-eyed boy on his way. Then, fetching an  _ onigiri _ from the kitchen, the bluenette returned to the table and opened the folder that Kohaku had left for her perusal. 

She spread out the papers with her left hand even as she brought the rice ball to her mouth with her right, then perched on the arm of the couch. First things first: determining if the arrowhead was just a red herring, or was worth further perusal.

Fairly high quality pictures of the strange arrowhead were mixed in with a few pages of research about particular ceremonial weapons, though most of the myths were labeled “unlikely”, “unsupportable”, and other such terms. One myth in particular, however, seemed to have piqued her client’s interest, as roughly half of the pages presented were on a Ancient Egyptian cult that had splintered off from Akhenaten’s sun worshipers. 

As she read, she began to understand just  _ why _ Kohaku had included these. Leaving aside the bizarre sacrificial rite that these arrows seemed to be used for (what  _ else _ could one call a ‘test’ in which you stab yourself in the heart so you might gain superpowers?), she had to admit that the descriptors and carvings definitely resembled the design of the arrowhead very strongly.

Thus, she concluded, it was  _ highly _ unlikely that the arrowhead was a mere trinket or heirloom, but in fact a priceless historical artifact. That alone helped her immensely; the list of people in the world who could feasibly get ahold of such an item was small, and limiting her search to Japanese people who’d married a Caucasian (or vice versa) in the past twenty or so years would narrow her search further still. Therefore, unless the targets of her search were completely off the grid or were concealed by high levels of government security, she shouldn’t have a great deal of trouble narrowing it down to a few possible matches.

Being a Shirogane had its perks, after all, and one of those perks was near-unrestricted access to police databases, and moderate clearance into government ones.

All things considered, this looked to be an open-and-shut case, Naoto mused.

-x-x-x-

After departing from the Detective Prince’s estate, Kohaku retraced his steps to the station near the Amagi Inn, then entered. After slipping out of his boots and into a pair of house-slippers, he left the  _ genkan _ and entered the inn proper. 

Approaching the front desk, he was greeted by a middle-aged woman in a flowery kimono. She’d been seated behind her desk, but as he approached, she rose to her feet. Her face was sharp and her black hair long, but her eyes held a twinkle that softened her otherwise intimidating visage.

“Welcome to the Amagi Inn, young sir. My name is Hana Amagi, and I am the proprietor of this humble inn. How may I assist you this day?” The woman bowed to him demurely.

He returned the courtesy before he replied, “I’m Kohaku Yukimura. I called up here last week to book a long-term stay…?” Even as he spoke he slipped a hand into his pocket, retrieving his ID and presenting it to the proprietor.

“Of course,” Hana replied after giving the small laminated card a look, “just allow me a moment to check our booking, if you would.” At Kohaku’s nod, the woman pulled a thin book from the desk and began to flip rapidly through it until she reached a particular page and stopped. “Here we are. It seems everything is in order, as you paid in advance.” She reached into the desk once more and retrieved a key attached to a thin wooden placard. The number “9” was stamped on the front of the wood. Kohaku shifted his suitcase to his right hand, accepting the key with his now-free dominant hand.

“Your room is number nine, all the way down the hall to your right,” she gestured in the direction she’d indicated. “The rooms adjacent to yours are vacant for the meantime, though this will likely change come summertime. The hot springs are segregated by gender, and the males’ times are from 5pm to 5:50pm, from 8pm to 8:50pm, and from 10pm to 10:50pm.” Hana tapped her chin with a thin, impeccably maintained finger. “What else… Ah. Dinner is served between 7pm and 8pm, and while you may take it in your room, I would  _ encourage _ you to at least meet our other guests.”

…

Kohaku recognized that smile and tone of voice. That was Matron Ayako’s legendary “You  _ technically  _ have a choice, but if you don’t pick my way you’re in for a world of discomfort” smile, no mistake. He told himself it would cost him more energy to go against his host and lose standing with her than it would to interact with others, but he was really just terrified of what manner of devilry this woman could visit upon him.

“...I’ll be there,” Kohaku replied tiredly, “though I’ve had a long day, so I can’t promise I’ll be a barrel of laughs.”

Hana gave a kind smile. “Oh, do not worry. The other two guests are not the sort who would judge you for such a thing. No, I think they will be most understanding.”

Kohaku nodded, then glanced at a clock on the wall. It was 6:30 at the moment, so he decided he’d take the time between now and dinner to unpack his luggage and unwind a bit from the day he’d had.

A short walk down the hallway later, he entered the room that would be his place of residence for the foreseeable future. All things considered, it was a nice room, if a bit traditional for his tastes. Off against the far wall was a futon, a small bookshelf set about a meter away against the same wall. A door to his left opened into a small bathroom, and similarly situated to his right was another door, which was revealed to be a closet when opened.

The faint scent of the room’s fresh linen tickling his nose, Kohaku plucked at the front of his shirt with mild distaste. Several hours on a musty, enclosed train had done him no favors. It couldn’t be helped; he’d have to bathe now rather than later. 

As he scrubbed his body, Kohaku allowed his thoughts to wander. He hoped that whatever impressions he made on the other two guests would be good enough to justify yet another deviation from his  _ excruciatingly _ planned schedule. 

He was well aware that life was mercurial, “the best laid plans of mice and men were oft to go awry” and all that, but  _ still _ . Exacting as much control over his life as possible was the best way to live up to his potential, to be as close to  _ free _ as possible.

Snapping from his reverie, he became aware that he’d been rubbing his forearm raw with his washcloth. Troublesome. A glance at a clock on the wall told him that he’d been zoned out for longer than he’d have liked, so he quickly finished cleaning himself. 

As he left the bathroom, toweling off his shoulder-length mane of hair, Kohaku abruptly realized that he’d failed to ask what the dress code for dinner would be. A vein throbbed in his head; today was just  _ determined  _ to give him a stroke out of sheer aggravation, wasn’t it? He exhaled and closed his eyes, internally frantic and scrabbling for some measure of calm, of  _ control _ . 

_ ‘Fuck it,’ _ he thought, with no small measure of internal venom,  _ ‘I’ll dress casually, and whether hey take exception to it or not, I’ll have an answer.’ _

So it was that Kohaku found himself seated cross-legged at a table, clad in the an identical black button-up and pair of jeans to the ones he’d been wearing. He was not the first to arrive at the dinner table; the girl who’d been eavesdropping on his and Naoto’s conversation on the bus was seated opposite him, looking  _ anywhere _ but at him.

This suited him just fine. He wasn’t gonna go out of his way to be social if he didn’t have to.

…

That said, the way her eyes kept flicking towards him when she thought he wasn’t looking  _ was  _ becoming a bit grating.

Mercifully, it was not long before the awkward silence was disrupted. “If it ain’t Chie-kun! Good t’ see ya’!” A tall man with a sloppy grin, scruffy black hair, and a generally disreputable appearance about him plopped down on a cushion to Kohaku’s right. Indeed, if it hadn’t been for the spark of razor-honed intelligence gleaming in his storm-grey eyes, Kohaku might have thought him a lush or a bum.

But that spark was there, and thereby caused Kohaku to take a second look at the man. Certainly, his worn button-down hung open over a rumpled t-shirt that looked to have seen better days, and his jeans were tattered in places, but upon closer inspection, he noticed a pattern in the damage. It was nothing overt, and most people wouldn’t have looked twice at him and thereby missed it, but the damage to the man’s clothing was just a  _ hair _ too uniform to be anything but deliberate.

How curious.

“An’ you! Yer a new face! Th’ name’s Ryoma, Ryoma Kaji! Nice t’ meet ya!” The man gave him a nod and stuck out his hand all too cheerily.

“...Kohaku Yukimura,” the amber-eyed lad replied after a pause, grasping Ryoma’s hand and giving it a shake. “You’re one of the other two tenants, I assume?”

“Yep! The kid’s prob’ly gonna be late t’ dinner tonight; said he felt like sh—”

The scruffy man’s invective was cut off abruptly by the  _ clunk _ of a wooden spoon rapping him on the head. “Need I remind you to mind your language in my establishment, Kaji-san?” As though materialized from mist, Hana Amagi had come up from behind Ryoma and exacted righteous judgement upon him. 

From the playful smirk on the man’s face and the fond exasperation on the proprietors, Kohaku surmised that this was not an uncommon occurrence in the Amagi Inn. 

_ ‘Hopefully it doesn’t get  _ too _ lively,’  _ the young man mused absently, resting his chin on his fist.  _ ‘As amusing as slapstick comedy might be, I’d prefer to have more quiet than not.’ _

Suddenly, something occurred to him.  _ ‘Amagi-san said that there were only two other tenants, and Kaji-san mentioned a kid. So why is this “Chie” dining with us tonight?’ _

As Kaji-san and Amagi-san bickered good-naturedly, Kohaku’s mind drifted to other matters. He raised his eyes to the brunette who was  _ still _ avoiding his gaze, curiosity warring with weary lethargy. As ever, his insatiable curiosity won out.

“Chie-san, was it?” he asked, arching a thin brow.

Upon being addressed, she twitched slightly, then replied, “Y-yeah! Chie Satonaka’s the name!”

Kohaku let a faint smile at her discomfort tug his lips upward. “As I said to Kaji-san over there, I’m Kohaku Yukimura.” He gave her a shallow nod. “Good to meet you, Satonaka-san.” It wasn’t, really, but he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Amagi-san’s wrath, so he would be polite.

Meh. Maybe she’d exceed his expectations and make up for the less than favorable impression their initial encounter had left them with.

Upon hearing his words, Chie seemed to relax fractionally. “Good to meet you too, Yukimura-kun.”

He fought back an eyebrow twitch at the more familiar address, and let it go, for the moment. “So, Satonaka-san. Amagi-san said that there were two tenants other than me. Why are you eating with us this evening?”

Before Chie could answer, Amagi-san spoke up. “Satonaka-chan dines with us every so often, when she’s stayed late with my Yukiko.” She smiled demurely. “They’ve been friends since they were little.”

Kohaku nodded, curiosity satiated. He steepled his fingers in front of him, the sounds of clattering kitchenware and the scent of frying poultry presenting themselves on the edge of his awareness.

As he looked on quietly, Chie and Kaji-san exchanged small talk, the brunette asking the scruffy man about his last assignment. Apparently the man was an investigative journalist, and was taking a sabbatical in Inaba to recover from the hecticness of his last assignment during the Nyx cultist event the year prior.

Kohaku hadn’t paid that incident much more than cursory attention, and that he paid it even that much was because of the way the cases of Apathy Syndrome had seemed to spike suddenly after the turn of the year, then just as abruptly vanish come spring.

As Chie peppered the man with questions, Kohaku kept half an ear on their conversation, or rather, Kaji-san’s part of it, mildly curious as to what the manhad made of the events that had swirled around Tatsumi Port Island and even now hung over the city in shroud of uncertainty. 

Unfortunately, the reporter had few insights to offer. Judging by the way Kaji-san’s face twisted as he spoke, he was frustrated by the lack of conclusive evidence as well.

_ ‘Meh. I’ve got other things to worry about anyways.’ _ Almost as though in response to his thought, a black-haired girl in a pink kimono emerged from the kitchen area, a tray of food on one arm, a small platter holding a tea set on the other. This had to be Yukiko Amagi; she resembled the proprietor too much to be anyone else. 

Nearly in tandem with her approach, a slender brunet boy walked out of the corridor that led to the tenant rooms. Kohaku recognized him as the young man who’d been listening to music on the bus he’d ridden from the shopping district. He was still wearing that unfamiliar, jet black school uniform, but Kohaku didn’t pay it much mind. In Tokyo he’d become inured to far more bizarre fashion statements than wearing your uniform outside school.

True to Kaji-san’s word, his skin looked mildly pallid, beads of sweat glistened upon his brow like a jeweled circlet, and his face was contorted into a squinting grimace.

Kohaku’d seen that sort of face in the mirror more than once, when he’d gotten so sucked in to whatever subject he was pursuing at the time that he neglected his own health. Of course, there was no way to be  _ sure _ that the boy was suffering from the same sort of malady as he had, but he empathized nonetheless.

“Amagi-san,” the young man began, speaking in an hoarse voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t feel well enough to eat dinner; I’ve got a  _ bad _ migraine.”

_ ‘Ah, so it  _ was _ what I suspected.’ _ Kohaku mused, amber eyes softening slightly as he looked at the young man. Migraines were a bitch and a half, no two ways about it.

“Of course, Ken-kun,” Amagi-san replied, even as her daughter set the table with precise, silent movements. “Would you mind introducing yourself to our new tenant, however?”

Ken looked over at Kohaku, giving a pained smile and a bow. “I’m Ken. Ken Amada. Welcome to the Amagi Inn; I hope we get along.”

Kohaku dipped his head in response. “Kohaku Yukimura. A pleasure, Amada-san.”

Whether  _ that  _ particular nicety would prove true remained to be seen.

-x-x-x-

Naoto Shirogane frowned, chewing absently on the eraser of a pencil. This...this was troubling. It seemed that her case would be more complicated than she originally anticipated.

Perhaps Grandpa would know what to do…

No, no. It wouldn’t do to go running to her grandfather at the first sight of a complication; she would do her best to resolve this herself. Grandpa had put his faith in her, and not even his granddaughter took the trust of Masao Shirogane lightly.

Naoto pushed aside her worry, and fished her phone out of her pocket. 

“It’s Shirogane. I’ve a case I could use your help with.”

“...”

“As soon as you can.”

“...”

“Excellent. I’ll see you in a few hours, then.”

_ Click. _

* * *

 

**AN: Well. This took FAR longer than I anticipated, and for that I am truly sorry. I won’t make excuses. I’ll just do better. As always, I thank Teninshigen for his assistance betaing, and Mirror Exit for his well-thought out criticisms. I hope you all enjoy.**


	3. Arc 1:「Trailblazers」Act 2

Arc 1:「Trailblazers」Act 3

After Ken returned to his room, dinner (a delicious soba that Kohaku praised with vehemence shocking to even him) passed without further surprises or incidents, save one. 

Kaji-san’s phone rang during the meal. Now, this would usually be considered a faux-pas, albeit a relatively minor one, but it quickly became evident based on the way he’d become more serious that he’d been called out for business. The scruffy man finished his soba quickly and excused himself, tossing on a worn black greatcoat and departing into the night.

After that, it was just Kohaku and Chie. Despite their earlier, somewhat agreeable interactions, an air of awkwardness remained between them. Kohaku, of course, made no efforts to break it, and when Chie attempted to make small talk, he answered minimalistically. The brunette eventually realized that he had very little desire to talk, and clammed up, to Kohaku’s relief. 

After finishing her meal, she awkwardly excused herself, to which Kohaku responded with an absent nod. He finished his own meal shortly after Chie departed, then returned to his room. As he laid down upon his futon, he shut his eyes and simply let his memories of the day flow through him in a practice somewhere between meditation and stream-of-consciousness.

_ He’d enjoyed what little time he’d spent with Naoto Shirogane thus far, even if it was in a professional setting.The impression he got from the Detective Prince was that of someone who held themselves to exacting standards and likely expected similar from others, a mindset Kohaku was  _ very  _ familiar with. It was nice _ ,  _ he thought _ ,  _ to meet somebody who approached life the same way as he. _

_ He wondered if he’d be able to kindle something like an actual friendship with the younger boy; he hadn’t had anything resembling a real friendship since— _

Kohaku cut off  _ that _ stream of thought sharply. Dwelling on  _ him _ would only serve to depress him.

Amber eyes cracked open and stared dully at a wooden ceiling for a time, before shutting once more. He cycled air through his lungs, grasping for equilibrium as he submerged himself in the sea of his memories once more.

_ His opinion on Chie Satonaka was largely undecided. On one hand, the girl seemed like a genuine person, and perhaps even a kind one, which were doubtlessly points in her favor. On the other, if the time he’d spent near her this evening were any indication, she was energetic and talkative, two traits that rarely meshed well with his personality.  _

_ He would hold off on making any judgements one way or the other, Kohaku decided. _

_Now, Ryoma Kaji; there_ _was_ another _individual who intrigued him. He’d always had a tangential interest in those careers that teased out hidden information and made it their own, and that interest had only deepened when he’d taken up the task of finding out who his parents were._

_ Couple that fact with the proficiency Kaji-san had shown at disguising just how intelligent he actually was? Well, the man had risen from a mild curiosity to an individual of interest in his book. _

As Kohaku slipped out of his memories and into Morpheus’ clutches, a thought passed through his mind.  _ ‘Perhaps there will be more to this little town than I’d anticipated…’ _

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

“...and that’s the situation as it stands.” Her hands steepled in front of her face, Naoto spoke to the person sitting opposite her. “Have you any thoughts to offer, Kaji-san?”

Ryoma Kaji ran a hand through his shaggy, coarse hair casually— _ too  _ casually—as he kicked one foot up to rest on his knee. His movements were somewhat stiff, and Naoto caught a flash of an emotion she couldn’t quite place cross his face for a brief moment.

“Hmm…’ve got a couple contacts I can call up,” he offered slowly, almost... _ hesitantly? _

Naoto narrowed her eyes fractionally.  _ ‘Just  _ what _ are you hiding from me, Ryoma Kaji?’ _

As much as she respected the reporter, for both his intelligence and his tenacity when pursuing a case, she  _ knew _ that some of the information he’d shared with her in the past couldn’t have come from official channels. The man almost  _ had _ to have contacts of the extra-legal variety. 

Naoto’s sense of justice squirmed against the idea, but Kaji-san had yet to steer her wrong, and had been of invaluable help in solving several cases much more quickly than she’d have managed on her own. He’d more than earned a bit of trust, she thought, though perhaps…

She nodded to herself. Just because she was going to offer him her trust didn’t mean she had to feign ignorance. “Kaji-san,” she began, lifting her head to fix him with a look that wasn’t quite a frown but neither was it a completely neutral expression, before continuing, “I can tell there is something that you are hiding from me.” She raised a hand to forestall any protestations of innocence. “I will not ask you to tell me what it is you are hiding. I will simply ask you this favor: please inform me if and when any information you are concealing would put my family, my client, or me in danger.”

Kaji-san gaped at Naoto, then snapped his jaws shut and let out a bitter chuckle. “Ya know, Nao-kun, sometimes that mind of yours is downright  _ scary _ .” He offered a small smile. “I can promise you this, kiddo.” He closed his eyes for a moment, as though gathering strength, then snapped them open, a dark flame burning in his irises. He then spoke, his voice half a whisper, half a growl.  _ “I’ll off myself before I let my secrets gettcha hurt. _ ”

Something about the intensity in his tone and the molten steel in his eyes gave her pause. That level of passion didn’t come from nowhere...but she had a feeling that, whatever it stemmed from, it was something incredibly personal. As much as Naoto’s ever-inquisitive mind wanted to prod and pry until Kaji-san’s secrets were laid bare to her, she’d long since learned to temper that part of herself. 

Furthermore, Kaji-san was one of the minority of people outside her family who actually respected her efforts and didn’t treat her like some kid playing at detective (albeit a useful kid). She had no desire to alienate someone who was in her metaphorical corner, someone she considered a  _ friend _ , out of selfish curiosity.

Naoto tugged on her cap, then met Kaji-san’s eyes. “Very well. I will place my trust in you, Kaji-san. Please, let me know if any of your contacts uncover any information.” She closed her eyes, before continuing, “Suffice it to say that the people who could’ve gotten their hands on that are of extreme importance and interest to my client. I’ll be counting on your expertise.”

Kaji-san chuckled, canting his head to one side and flashing his sharp canines in a wolfish grin. “Always happy t’ help, Nao-kun. Like always, we’ll talk cash when I’ve got somethin’ for ya.” He stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. “It’s gettin’ late; I should get back so Hana-chan don’t get mad. If ya need anythin’ else, gimme a ring.”

“I’ll be sure to do just that,” Naoto replied with an absent nod, her hands already shuffling through Yukimura-san’s files and putting them back in order. “Have a good evening, Kaji-san.”

With a casual wave, the reporter exited into the night, leaving her alone with her thoughts. It was only when she let out a jaw-cracking yawn that she checked her phone’s clock and realized that it was nearly midnight. 

She  _ really  _ ought to get some sleep; as troublesome as it was, she  _ did _ still have to attend school even though she had a case. At least the school was more than willing to work with her on lessons and classwork during those long cases that would have her out of town for a long period of time.

She suspected it was partly for the prestige of having the famous “Detective Prince” be a graduate of Yasogami, but many members of the faculty were genuinely kind and understanding people, so it didn’t bother her overmuch.

After taking a quick shower, she fell into bed, nestling into the warmth of the covers as she quickly fell asleep. 

The Detective Prince began to dream. It was a bizarre dream, one at right-angles with reality and full of absurdity that wouldn’t have been out-of-place on the set of a  _ tokusatsu _ show.

Nonetheless, when Naoto woke the next morning, she felt more well rested than she had in a while. As she ate a small breakfast of nicely crispy toast and blackberry jam perfectly balanced between sweetness and bitterness, a small smile crossed her face. So far, the day was shaping up to be a good one.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Kohaku woke feeling much better than he had the prior evening. He didn’t know if it was the cozy atmosphere of the inn, the quality of the futon, or even the cleaner air out in the countryside, but whatever the case, he felt  _ lighter _ .

Whether his spirits would remain high was anyone’s guess, but he’d deal with it either way.

He swiftly dressed himself in his Yasogami uniform, then set out early, a riceball in one hand and his bag in the other.

As he walked, munching on his simple breakfast, he heard the sound of multiple police sirens in the distance. He almost ignored it; in Tokyo, such a thing wouldn’t have been uncommon, especially on his side of the city. In a small, quiet town like this one, however…

_‘Just my luck that_ _I’d arrive in town just in time for something to happen.’_ With that dry thought, Kohaku finished his _onigiri_ and continued on his way.

On his approach to the school, he came upon two other boys dressed in same uniform as he, with one minor difference. Where his collar had a pin shaped like the Roman numeral “I”, signifying his status as a first year, theirs took the form of “II”, meaning that they were his senpai.

He recognized one of them as the silver-haired boy who’d been on the train with him, and from the looks of things, the other, a young man with messy brown hair, had crashed his bike. 

Kohaku paused. It looked as though the two had the situation well in hand, but…

Ah, he was in a good mood this morning, and it wasn’t as though he was in danger of being late. Why not?

“Excuse me, senpai? Do you need any help?”

The silver-haired boy turned to regard him, while the other seemed a bit preoccupied, bemoaning the damage.

“No, I think we’re fine,” the young man replied neutrally. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

Kohaku inclined his head. “It’s nothing.” As he turned to go, idly dusting off his blazer, he spoke again. “Later, senpai.”

With that, he continued on his way, quickly reaching the gates of Yasogami High. It was much less... _ fancy _ than Kosei Academy, but that was fine. Schools didn’t  _ need _ personal chefs and massive, Olympic-sized pools to perform their functions, however nice such amenities might be.

Now, who was the teacher he was supposed to meet? Ah, right. Sofue-sensei,  _ that _ was the name. 

-x-x-x-x-x-

The buzzing tone of his cell phone brought Ryoma Kaji from dead sleep to full wakefulness in the span of a couple of seconds. His hand snaked out from under the covers he’d curled up beneath and snatched up the device, before retreating back into the cocoon of fluffy warmth. 

Still encased within his fortress of floof, he snapped the phone open. 

“Kaji.”

“...”

“Nah, ‘s fine. Should prob’ly be gettin’ up anyways. ’s up, Tarou-senpai?”

“...”

“Ugh. Do I gotta? Not really feelin’ that; they’re just kids.”

“...”

“I got it, I got it. I’ll get back to ya when I’ve got more info.”  _ Click _ . “Geez, what a fuckin’ hassle. Leaves a shit taste in my mouth, too…”

With a aggrieved sigh, the reporter dragged himself out of bed and doggedly shambled to the bathroom.

“Life didn’t used ta be such a pain in th’ ass…” he grumbled, shucking off his pajamas and drawing himself a bath. 

After completing his morning ablutions, Kaji grabbed a pack of crackers and settled at his laptop.

_ ‘Sorry, Nao-kun, but ya don’t know what kinda mess yer dancin’ at the edge of,’ _ the man thought as his fingers danced across the keyboard.  _ ‘An’ if I can help it, ya never will.’ _

-x-x-x-x-x-

_ ‘She’s wearing a pharaoh’s headdress. I thought some of the delinquents back in Tokyo dressed funny, but this? This is practically cosplay!’ _ Kohaku had entered the school and proceeded to the faculty office only to come face-to-face with a pair of teachers. One was a buck-toothed man with a receding hairline and an ornery expression on his face. The intensity of the disdain he practically radiated was matched only by the tackiness of his purple striped suit and orange checkered tie.

Thankfully, it was abundantly clear, both due to his apparent gender and due to the nameplate on his desk (which read Kinshiro Morooka), that he was not the person Kohaku was supposed to meet.

No,  _ that _ would be the headdress-adorned woman sitting off to one side, paging through a well-worn leather-bound book. When he’d entered the room, she’d snapped the book shut and stowed it in her desk. She then rose from her seat, a short pharaoh’s crook now occupying the hand that had previously held the book.

“Yukimura-kun, I presume?” she asked in a calm, almost soothing voice. At his assent, she gave a nod to her colleague, receiving a noncommittal grunt in return, then motioned for Kohaku to follow her. 

As they walked, Sofue-sensei made to fill the silence of the hall with small talk. “It’s not every day we get a transfer from an academy as prestigious as Kosei. If I may ask, what prompted you to choose our school?”

A look of discomfort crossed his face, and the leather handle of his schoolbag creaked as he squeezed it. “I’d rather not talk much about that; it’s a personal matter.”

To her credit, the teacher didn’t so much as pause at his rebuttal, instead accepting his response and moving on. “Well, whatever the case, I do hope you enjoy your time here at Yasogami. I, for one, will be sure to make our journey through history as fulfilling as possible, Yukimura-kun.” With that statement, she thrust out her arm, pointing confidently forward with her crook.

_ ‘What a bizarre woman,’ _ Kohaku mused, following the faux-pharaoh down the hallway.  _ ‘Well, at least her classes shouldn’t be boring.’ _

After climbing a flight of stairs, the two arrived at a classroom. From beyond the closed door, Kohaku could  _ just _ make out the sounds of lively conversation.

Sofue-sensei walked up to the door, then paused and turned to Kohaku.“Wait here for a moment, Yukimura-kun. I’ll call you in once I’ve gotten your classmates-to-be to calm down.”

The teen nodded wordlessly in reply, so she entered. Kohaku moved closer to the door, massaging his opposite shoulder with his free hand.  _ ‘I hope she doesn’t make me do a long-ass introduction; those are always so damn  _ awkward _.’ _ Kohaku squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. The roiling anxiety inside his gut didn’t disappear, it never did, but it was calmed a small bit, and that would have to be enough.

Just as the amber-eyed youth reached a state of reasonable calm, Sofue-sensei’s voice called out into the hall, beckoning him into the classroom. He entered, all too conscious of the eyes on him. As his gaze swept the room, he briefly locked eyes with another student, their familiarity unexpected but most certainly not unwelcome. As he gave Naoto Shirogane a small nod, barely more than a tilt of the chin, he felt a small measure of relief; at least there was  _ someone _ in the class that he’d met before. The fact that the prodigal detective had left a good impression on him was just icing on the cake.

As he finished surveying the room, he noticed one other person, though only because the boy stuck out perhaps more than he did! With bleach-blond hair, a wicked scar over his left eye, and a skull t-shirt worn under a blazer that hung limply from the young man’s shoulders, he was a picture-perfect stereotype of a delinquent. Add in the fact that even seated, the boy loomed over his classmates, and Kohaku suddenly began to feel a bit less nervous about standing out.

He glanced over at Sofue-sensei, who gave him an encouraging smile. Kohaku exhaled, then looked up at his classmates. “I’m Kohaku Yukimura. As you might be able to guess, I was named for my eyes.” He gave a slight wry smile at that, probably looking more constipated than amused. “I moved here from Tokyo for... _ personal _ reasons. I hope that we all get along.”

Another glance to the teacher, this one slightly pleading (never let it be said that Kohaku was too proud to beg), and she took pity on him. “There’s a seat open between Matsunaga-chan and Shirogane-kun; feel free to take it.”

With a murmured “thank you”, he proceeded down the row to the desk Sofue-sensei had indicated and took his seat between Naoto and a small girl with a round face, short hair, and flushed cheeks. He gave them both a brief nod, then withdrew a notebook from his satchel and settled in for the lesson.

-x-x-x-

The morning passed with little of note happening; most of the material that had been covered was review, so he kept up with little issue. Indeed, the most noteworthy thing that occurred during the morning was him being introduced to the... _ experience _ that was Kinshiro Morooka. 

Now, Kohaku wasn’t one to judge people for their appearances beyond “did they do basic hygiene”. The face one was born with wasn’t an indicator of the quality of a person’s character, after all. And in the case of Morooka-sensei, this proved true, albeit in a backwards and unpleasant fashion. By comparison to the ugliness of his spiteful, condescending attitude towards seemingly everyone and everything, the buck-toothed man’s face was practically an angelic visage of beauty.

Thankfully, though, they didn’t have to deal with the man for long, and all too soon, lunchtime came and went. The bento that Amagi-san had prepared was as exemplary as the meal the night prior had been, and Kohaku was done with it all too soon. As he stared mournfully at the empty lunchbox, he heard a loud ringing beside him. He turned to the source, a phone that the Detective Prince had fished out of his pocket. A severe expression on his face, Naoto excused himself to a corner of the somewhat emptied classroom to take the call, Kohaku glancing after the boy in concern. 

Kohaku didn’t know what the call was about, but he could  _ see _ the color drain from Naoto’s face. A few moments later, the young man ended the call and walked back over to his desk, stooping to grab his bag as he did so. He paused there for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, then turned to Kohaku. “Yukimura-san, could you pass a message to the teacher when the next class begins?”

At Kohaku’s nod, Naoto spoke again, his voice grave. “There has been an incident, and I have been called in.”

And wasn’t  _ that  _ just all kinds of ominous.

* * *

**AN: It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I am truly sorry about how long it has been since I updated this and my other story, but...well. Let’s just say that depression and being motivated don’t often mix, and when that murky bleakness continues to self-reinforce the longer I go without updates, it becomes all the harder. I can only try to do better in the future, and hope that my depression comes knocking far less frequently and for far less long than it has in the past months.**

**In any case, as always, I extend my sincere thanks to Teninshigen for beta-ing, and I hope you all enjoy.**


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